


Of Slytherin Mischief and Ravenclaw Wit

by fauxilya



Category: Divergent - All Media Types, Divergent Series - Veronica Roth, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Amortentia, Another cliche I smell you in a Love Potion fic? You bet, Dumbasses, English isn’t my mother language, F/M, Hogwarts AU, I wrote this while procrastinating on my wip, Love Potion/Spell, No one drank it tho, One Shot, Prank Wars, Pumpkin Juice (Harry Potter), Rated T for kiss & swearing, Resolved Sexual Tension, Took me forever to write this, sry for the errors :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25799062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxilya/pseuds/fauxilya
Summary: “Peter Hayes,” she said, matter-of-factly. “As much as I’d like to grill your sorry ass in a duel, I‘ve decided to make this more fun for both of us. Remember: you started this, you uncreative three-year-old.  ”Mom and Dad would sure be horrified if only they hear her now.“I declare a prank war.”Your typical prank war + love potion + enemies/rivals to lovers(kinda) fic that no one asked for. Enjoy.
Relationships: Four | Tobias Eaton/Christina, Peter Hayes/Tris Prior, This is extremely Peter/Tris centered:), i know it sucks but that’s a canon ship, only mentioned briefly don’t worry, that is mentioned
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Of Slytherin Mischief and Ravenclaw Wit

Tris never thought she’d develop such spite for pumpkin juice before it magically leapt up from the goblet and splattered all over her cheeks.

Hogwarts was the place where magical incidents had seemingly taken a liking to occur, many of said incidents being accidents—the Year 1 and 2 students, still practicing their magic, could be quite clumsy—but Tris didn’t fail to register the ugly laughters coming all the way from the far end of the Slytherin table.

Nor did she miss how the pair of green eyes had pointedly landed on her juice-smudged face, gleaming with smugness.

Asshole.

Tris, in a futile attempt of retaliation, glared dagger in the direction of the notorious trio—Molly and Drew, who high-fived and snort loudly at Tris’s indignity, wiggling their brows at her in a mocking manner; then there was the leader of the mob, Peter Hayes, with his eyes trained on her and the corner of his lips curved in gleeful amusement.

Merlin, Tris wished looks could kill. Alternatively, that she wouldn’t be getting a one-way ticket to Azkaban should she, hypothetically, ever murder a classmate with a wandless spell. 

Goosebumps took over her arms—despite them being hidden in the comfort of her robe’s sleeves—as Tris struggled to ignore all the gawking and whispering that erupted in the Great Hall all out of a sudden. Christina had been the first to react, quickly grabbing a napkin and helped clean the mess, causing Tris’s other friends to snap out of their shock and follow suit. Tris, on the other hand, had completely frozen in place. Her breaths came out shuddering, uneven.

“Are you okay?” Christina gave her gentle pat on the shoulder. Then, seeing her friend’s face, realization struck home. “Merlin’s beard, please tell me you are not about to do something stu—”

But Tris had her mind made up on whatever mess she was about to be rushing into. It’s her sixth year at Hogwarts; she had long grown out of the timid, awkward muggle-born she had been before embracing the world of magic. Beatrice would have let a stupid prank slide, dipping her head low with all the good manners of a Prior, hiding her vulnerability behind a calm mask.

Good thing she was Tris now.

Tris Prior had a reputation of never turning down a challenge.

Tris stomped towards the Slytherin table, fists clenched at sides. She wanted to make a scene out of this. Usually she’d be prone to avoid attention, but today’s incident had she drawn enough of unwanted attention that she couldn’t care less. Al shouted something after her, which soon melted into background noises. Tris could feel her veins burning as she locked eyes with the cause of her misery; she considered, for a moment, giving Hayes a black eye that could make him regret his childish prank for the rest of the year.

But then Tris would be the one getting detention, and Hayes would be more than happy to tease her about this later, being the pain in the ass he had been for five years straight. Enough reason for her not punching him in the face.

She crossed all the way and stopped right before Peter Hayes, hugged her arms in front of her chest, and looked down at the sitting boy like he was the most distasteful thing to have ever come into her sight. Her face had a hard time adjusting to such a resentful look—the Sorting Hat had made her Ravenclaw, not Slytherin, who wore contempt on their stupid faces all day long. She forced her lips into a frown.

Peter flashed her a smirk. “Running into my arms at your hour of need, Prior? Tsk, too bad you aren’t my type.” 

Her ears buzzed with rage.

“You won’t fight me.” Peter observed. As if he knew her. Why did people always say that? Tris can’t fight, she’s too good-hearted for that; she’s a Prior for Merlin’s sake, she won’t hurt a fly...blah-blah-blah. Tris wondered how many still held this illusion about her after she beat Molly fair and square in Dark and Defense yesterday. Molly spent the rest of the periods in the Hospital Wing, and Tris spent her after-class hours in detention, but seeing a member of the Obnoxious Trio™ bearing a bleeding nose on the ground and groaning was definitely worth it.

She opened her mouth to backfire, but then a thought skimmed across her mind.

Tris clenched her jaw, straightened her back and spoke up with all the dignity of a person at 5’1’’.

“Peter Hayes,” she said, matter-of-factly. “As much as I’d like to grill your sorry ass in a duel, I‘ve decided to make this more fun for both of us. Remember: you started this, you uncreative three-year-old.”

Mom and Dad would sure be horrified if only they hear her now.

“I declare a prank war.”

Tris’s voice came out breathy, but damn if a surge of pride hadn’t risen from her core at the declaration.

She could feel her blood singing for vengeance.

* * *

Tris hated having to disrupt a good Quidditch match, even though she wasn’t a fan, and therefore, didn’t watch Quidditch often. At least that was what she told herself. Maybe, though, her unwillingness to come to the Quidditch stands had resulted from her breakup with Tobias in the Fourth Year. Tobias, or as he usually went, Four, was the captain of her House’s team. They connected at first because their parents worked together in the Muggle World; from there they had settled into a comfortable but passionate kind of relationship, stealing kisses in the corridors and in the common room with no one else present. Tobias tried training her in Quidditch; said her potential in sports shouldn’t go wasted, despite her initial rejection. Tris, not wanting to put distance between herself and her first love, had eventually conceded to pick up a broom after Tobias. He worked her relentlessly until her limbs went sore, and that one time she was too exhausted to pay attention, she fell off. 

Tris spent her Christmas that year back home, her mother worrying over her injury. When she came back, Four had asked Christina to the Yale Ball.

She never did know how her best friend and her ex-boyfriend hooked up—maybe they were the best match and just needed her out of the game, that was all. Christina loved Quidditch—she was on the team as a Keeper, and an excellent one at that. She was outspoken, fierce, and complemented Four’s relatively quiet personality well.

With Chris she has reconciled long—she’s her best friend, after all, and Tris knew her apology was sincere. Tris had to admit that though she sometimes missed the company of her Tobias, she too felt like he wasn’t the right one for her. So they broke up and maintained a less than awkward acquaintance. Since then, Tris had been reluctant to come to Quidditch matches and wouldn’t unless they were Christina’s.

It was a Gryffindor v.s. Slytherin friendly today, one that Tris hadn’t even known of until Christina practically dragged her out, announcing that she had to get some sun before she turned into a vampire. The match was actually quite exciting despite her vile history with the sport. She even cheered when one of the Gryffindor players succeeded in dodging a bludger seconds before it could hit her forefront.

Still, it wasn’t her fault that Peter Hayes happened to be the new Chaser of Slytherin. The evil gears in her head started turning at the first sight of Hayes mounting his bloom. Right now, Peter was close to bumping heads with the Chaser on the opponent team as they both dived for the Golden Snitch.

It would probably be a dirty trick, but seeing Hayes’ frustration would totally be worth a downgrade of her morals. Tris smirked to herself, summoning all her wit of a Ravenclaw and muttered a spell under her breath. The tip of her wand protruded, just a little, out of her robe’s sleeve.

The jinxed Snitch made a beeline for the stands.

Oh _crap_.

She should have gone directly for Hayes’ broom.

“Tris, it’s—” Christina squealed beside her, clashing with Will’s, “You have approximately ten seconds before it hits you, Tris! Do something!”

Tris lowered her head and tried to duck, but being the first row of the stands left irritatingly small space in front of her feet. The ticking of the clock soon announced that it was too late for Tris to do anything. The Snitch headed straight for her, like it had grown its own mind and decided to give its prankster a stroke.

She stared up at her handiwork in sheer fear.

Now that was something she didn’t meant for to happen.

Tris closed her eyes out of instinct. She should’ve known better than to cast a jinx she found in some random spell book and had been practicing for...well, frankly, less than an hour. According to her memory. While watching an engaging Quidditch match.

She could see St.Mungo waving at her just a few steps away. _One_ , she counted.

_Two_. She inhaled, a scream forming in her ribcage. 

_Three_.

But the pain never came.

“150 points to Slytherin!” Cheers swept over half the stand like a hurricane; Tris, then, opened her eyes and found her mortal enemy grinning with the Snitch in his grasp.

She should have ended him in a duel. 

Maybe she shouldn’t. Her traitor of a brain suddenly became busy focusing on the forest green of the boy’s eyes, smattered freckles on his pale skin, and—

“That’s cheap. Thought you’d be better than that.” Peter leant forward before she thought better to swat him away, and whispered into her ears.

“Until next time, Prior.”

Tris could swear she blushed a shade deeper than Gryffindor’s signature color.

* * *

The entire student body of Hogwarts knew that Peter Hayes and Tris Prior didn’t get along. He and his evil associates never ceased causing her trouble, teasing her about her muggle-born identity every chance they could, only to have stopped after Christina found out that Peter’s mother, a pure-blood witch, left his muggle father when he was twelve. Tris relished in this knowledge but didn’t feel especially compelled to make it known to the whole school. She wasn’t cold-blooded like that, but she did dance around the issue when Peter found trouble with her the next day. It earned her a good minute of his silence and a look so dark it shook her to the core of her soul.

If they hadn’t known since the first day of school, the rabbit was definitely out of the bag after their duel a few days ago in Dark Magic and Defense Art class. Yes, it was part of classwork, but both went to great length trying to add to each other’s suffering. The professor had to call off the duel when Peter ended up suspended in the air and Tris’s robe was on fire.

It was a tie in their Prank War, with either side realizing that they had probably gone too far and ceased their careless display of animosity for...well, a day. A great improvement for the two, though. 

Peter Hayes started this and he’d pay for it, no matter how much Tris liked staring into those pools of dark green and daydreaming about—

She cut off the not good, very bad trail of thoughts, and started trying to work out her next prank. Something that involved a visit to the Room of Requirement—alone.

She walked out wondering who carried the smell of ink, night air and pumpkin juice.

* * *

It was a Hogsmeade weekend. Chris and Four had offered to take Tris shopping at Honeydukes, but she declined, not wanting to third-wheel. She didn’t join her other friends as well; they would be a bad combination—Al had been looking at her weird lately, and Will seemed to be growing pretty close with a Hufflepuff girl.

Tris wondered when she had grown so out of place with her friends as she sat, in a somewhat gloomy mood, in the Three Broomsticks waiting for her beverage to be served.Nevertheless, she was grateful to take a break from her ongoing prank war with her mortal enemy. Over the expanse of last week, they had been through several crossfires with neither a winner.

Said crossfires included Peter’s green hair which he wore grudgingly throughout Arithmancy before he had the time to look the jinx up in the library and reverse the spell, Tris’s cauldron’s not-so-accidental explosion in Potions class with its content spilled all over her new robe, Peter’s wand’s mysteriously going missing during Dark and Defense, Tris’s sandwich transforming into a frog in the middle of lunch, and the list went on and on. It was a tiring match, annoying at times, but the look on Peter’s face every time she nailed a prank was almost too good to miss.

Besides, Tris had a final and winning card on her side.

She broke into a rare grin at the thought, sipped at her butterbeer—only to have her smile melt away as quickly as it came when the front door suddenly swung open with a thud.

Merlin, no. Tris stared numbly as her least favorite person stumbled into the shop, this time surprisingly without his evil accessories. She internally groaned; fate must have something against letting let her have her peace for long. Tris averted her gaze, turning her attention back to the goblet before her before raising it to her lips and having a gulp. Heat scraped against her throat, making her wince.

She was millimeters from committing murder when she heard a heavy body slump into the seat opposite her. 

“Sod off,” she spit out, “find somewhere else to haunt. ”

“I’m just taking a seat here, Prior, and yours is the nearest by.”

Tris didn’t miss the tiny tremor in Peter’s voice. Her brows furrowed, and she looked briefly up at her enemy.

Merlin’s pants, Peter looked terrible. Tris’s thoughts took a downward swerve as she examined Peter’s black eye, red nose and disheveled hair. He couldn’t sit in front of her in a state like this, Tris decided. It was a startling sight; plus, that bastard probably would attribute all that to her, claiming that she had fought dirty to destroy her reputation.

Tris sighed. 

“What the hell?” She demanded. 

“Was in a fight.” His words came out with a drawl. “That hunk of a friend of yours,” he clarified, his eyes looking anywhere but Tris, “was rambling about how you abandoned him because of your obsession with me. I’d say he’s jealous if I didn’t know better.”

Tris raised a brow. “Al.” The name came out unbidden. Peter nodded in confirmation.

“I wasn’t obsessed with you. Am not.” she sneered, her blood boiling. How could Al make an assumption like that? 

“Well, your friend most definitely doesn’t think so.” Peter gestured to himself, “I told him that there wasn’t a chance in a million years I would date you and look where it got me.”

So much for feeling bad about Al beating him up. “What do you want?”

If her heart sank, just a little, it had nothing to do with...disappointment. 

Peter narrowed his eyes, fixing her with an inquisitive look.

“Why,” he started, voice impassive, almost bored, “would you want to use amortentia on me?”

Whatever Tris had been feeling ten second ago now dissolved into pure panic. “I’m sorry?”

“Albert said,” Peter replied with the lack of his usual smugness, “that you are so desperate, you made a vial of love potion and planned to get some into my drink. I smell lies, Tris. This isn’t one of them.”

Tris. She froze at the use of her name. “I didn’t. I would never—”

Something glinted in Peter’s hands as he shifted in his seat, exposing the bottle in his grip for Tris to see; she gasped. 

“Where did you get this?!”

“The Room of Requirement.” Peter shrugged, running a hand through his raven black hair. “your douche friend said something about that so I took a short detour to see if that was true.” 

“You thief!” she whisper-shouted, leaning over the table trying to snatch the bottle back. “Give it to me—”

“Not until you answer my question.” Peter flinched back, pulling the bottle out of her reach; the legs of his chair dragging across the ground created a painful scraping noise.

Tris found herself once again locked eyes with the person who, from the first time they saw each other, had made it his life goal to make her suffer. She anxiously nibbled at her nails in an attempt to soothe down the twist of her gut.

She would never admit it to Peter’s face, but this time, she knew she had fucked herself up. Grandly.

“It’s supposed to be a prank.” She mumbled, defeated, “make you fall in love with whoever catches your eyes first and embarrass yourself for some hours straight. Then I’ll win.”

“All this for a prank?” Something rumbled in Peter’s chest that sounded like a laughter.“You do realize this could get you into big trouble.”

“I’d do it again.” And it was true. She wanted to see Peter Hayes, with his confident facade crumbled, madly pining after someone by her doing.

Better if that someone was her.

Tris was startled by her own thought. She quickly pressed it down, along with the lump in her throat. 

“Ah. So you’d do anything to see my demise.” Sarcasm dripped from Peter’s voice. He took a swig from the butterbeer, still steaming. “What if I report you to the professors? Who would win, then?”

Mist forged in front of Tris’s eyes. “No one would.”

He observed her for a long minute. “This could get you expelled.”

Under the table, Tris wiped her sweaty palms against the fabric of her robe. “So that I can go back home and never see your stupid face again for the rest of my life? Sounds more like a reward.”

The sassy comebacks lost their usual venom, burning her tongue like poison.

“I think otherwise.” He stood up, “but because I’m such a forgiving person, I will give this back to you. Meet me in the Courtyard so we can talk about the terms.”

Tris gave him her best scowl, but Peter only smirked in reply before he slid out of the door.

Tris looked down, hesitant, heart thumping in her chest.

That bastard. He had drunk all her butterbeer. 

* * *

Tris waited until her fume calmed before she went and headed for the Courtyard, where Peter decided for them to meet. She hoped that he wasn’t sitting at her favorite spot.

But of course he would.

Tris remembered, vaguely, some words she read in a Muggle’s book, “when you want something, the whole universe conspires to help you achieve it,” which now seemed like utter bullshit.

She narrowed her eyes at Peter. “Move.” She swallowed down a threat, remembering what she had been here for. “Please.”

“So it has manners.” Peter’s idiotic smile broadened. He did move, much to her surprise, standing up and walked towards her. 

Tris held out her hands. “Give it back and I won’t find business with you any more.”

“Pfft. Promising, but no.” Peter waggled a finger at her. “I am the one with the bargain chip. ”

Tris rolled her eyes so hard she could hear it. “Fine. ”

“First,” he began, taking a step closer, “tell me that I’ve won.”

Tris snorted, “‘I’ve won.’”

“Which part of human language is so difficult to understand?” Peter shot her a glare, seemingly unamused. “Or do you not want this b—”

In an instant, Tris’s body reacted. She thrusted out her arm, aiming for the vial of glistening lavender potion which the green-eyed boy held loosely in one hand. She jumped up, her head thinly missed a hard clash with Peter’s raised arm. Tris threw herself at him, fingers digging into his shoulders, trying to tug his arm down.

Peter’s empty hand flew down and caught her swinging arm, holding it there. Tris tried to twist out of his grasp, but with no success as he kept his lock hold steel. They came face to face, inches apart, and Tris once again found herself helplessly drowning in the two oceans of green.

In that flash of second, Tris realized two facts:

One, for someone so brash, Peter was a surprisingly tender kisser. His lips felt warm and tentative as they caressed hers. Then, sensing no objection, they proceeded to press fully against her own, challenging her. The two fell into their usual fight for dominance, though in a language other than hate.

Two, amid all their banters, insults and pranks, with her Ravenclaw wit blinded by the mischief of a certain Slytherin, she’d always known who smelled like ink, night air and pumpkin juice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> Find me on tumblr @dystella


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